One Knight at his House
by giantgnat
Summary: Dr. House was returning home from the hospital when a random guy in a bat costume dropped on his car. Now, the super-genius-almost-insane doctor will be in charge of the recovery of the one and only, Dark Knight. Even if he's stashed in the basement.
1. Chapter 1

My name is Dr. Gregory House, and right now I have a guy in a bat costume in my basement.

No, I don't have an unusual kinky side. The guy has broken bones, and it isn't because of BDSM. Scout's honor.

My day started pretty well. Went to the hospital and treated a guy diagnosed with cancer. Amazing, right? Alright, so he was wrongly diagnosed with cancer and actually had an infection in his spleen, but it sounded better before. Okay, so Foreman did most of the work, but hey, I made it all look pretty, right?

An idle conversation with Wilson and a snappy retort at Cuddy's ass later, there I was going home in my spiffy new car. I guessed I should go ahead and buy it, and I couldn't buy a new leg, so it was sorta the next best thing. I also guessed I shouldn't be driving high, but laws are for the weak! Cue evil laughter.

The good stuff was kicking in by the time I was almost home. Everything snapped into focus really nicely and while I was pretty sure that driving while seeing everything pink and green wasn't safe, it was worth it. At least my damned leg didn't hurt, and that right there was worth it. Unless I hit something really fast and became a cripple on both legs. That wouldn't be cool.

As if good ol' Cthulu had heard me say it, a big black thing crashed into my windshield, showering me in glass and blood drops. I felt everything blur and then the car hit something big. Probably a wall. For all I knew it could be Cuddy's butt, or maybe my own ego. Hard to tell which was bigger.

As I pried my face from the inflated bag, I found myself looking into the lens clad eyes of a guy with rabbit ears.

He groaned. "Help..."

Since my eyes didn't hurt, I rolled them. "Oh, _joy_."


	2. Chapter 2

Bat-guy woke with a manly grunt as he tried to get up. Unfortunately for our rabbit-eared friend, the fiendish Dr. House had cuffed him to the dusty four poster bed that sat in his basement. Okay, that sounds vaguely unhealthy, but trust me, I had really a good and devilishly smart reason for it.

One of them being, I really don't like getting punched in the face by muscular goths.

His panic subsided as he realized he still had his mask-thing on. Then his eyes lit up on little old me, sitting half a meter from his bed. I met them, looking for any violence or malice. To my very uncommon surprise, there was none; only a really calm kind of appraisal. Note to self- Bat-guy is either really tough, or he's used to being tied up. If I was betting man, which I am, I'd say both.

"At last, sleeping Batty awakes." I remarked.

His gaze didn't shift. "Who are you?"

Interesting. "So, you wake up bound to a bedpost with half your bones turned to mush, and your first question is who am I? Gee, smart."

He opened his mouth, then grimaced. My guess? No matter how big a brute he was, the pain was a-knocking at his brain.

"To answer your question," I said with a flourish, "My name is Dr. House."

"You're a... doctor?"

I raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "No, Halloween came early this year. If you can be a Bat, can't a guy be a doctor?"

He glared. Sheesh, could the guy be any more of a sour-puss?

"Why am I here?"

I gave a clap. "Yes! Now we're getting the right type of questions. Let me think," I raised my cane and leaned over to poke at his knee. He tried to kick, but only managed to hit his knee hard on my cane. He gave a howl of pain.

"And that's why you're here, dumb ass." I finished.

He wasn't really happy. Wonder why.

"Now my turn." I asserted. "Do you have a secret identity?"

He stiffened. Oh boy, oh boy.

"Really?" I said with an unplanned little laugh. "A secret identity? What are these, the 80s?"

Seeing how it had been going so far, I almost expected him to say "What, these aren't the 80s?". He didn't. Instead his eyes widened.

"I landed on your car. After he..." He paused. "After I fell."

I flicked my finger in an incriminating way. "No, no. You see, dear Watson, I have the uncanny ability to smell bullshit. I also have the ability to hear dramatic little pauses that give people time to think of suitable lies. Who threw you from the building, Bat-guy?"

He said nothing, instead started straining at the handcuff that had him stuck to the bed. It groaned, but I was pretty sure a guy as nicely banged up as my deliciously mysterious patient wasn't going to break it, no matter how disgustingly fit.

I stood up. "Don't hit me, I'm a cripple!" I said dramatically, then shook my head. "No, wait, you can't hit me."

"Why...? Because I'm... cuffed?"

I noticed the gaps in his breathing. He was gasping a little now. Bleeding lungs? Exhaustion? Out of breath? Or something else entirely?

I gave a satisfied smile. "No, because I'm going to fix you up."


End file.
